


Forget-me-nots

by Rainbow_Volcano



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, During Timeskip (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Flashbacks, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Misunderstandings, POV Ferdinand von Aegir, Pining, Pre-Relationship, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainbow_Volcano/pseuds/Rainbow_Volcano
Summary: Also known as scorpion grass or mouse ear. Ferdinand returns to Enbarr, weathered, and struggles to understand Hubert.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Edelgard von Hresvelg, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 94





	Forget-me-nots

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [scorpion grasses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590620) by [langue_de_chat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/langue_de_chat/pseuds/langue_de_chat). 



> The companion piece to Scorpion Grasses, told through Ferdinand's eyes
> 
> I fell in love with the talented langue_de_chat's phenomenal piece Scorpion Grasses. For those unfamiliar, it's entirely through Hubert's perspective, with glimpses at Ferdinand. At the end, I thought to myself, "man, can you imagine this from Ferdinand's perspective?" ...Aaaaaaaand 20k later, here we are. It's got some dark content and some heavier scenes but I promise the ending is very happy. You can read either story first, there's no order to them :)
> 
> Special thanks to langue_de_chat for allowing me to do this! It was such a blast, and I'm so glad our stories got to blend together.

Ferdinand von Aegir jolted awake in the night, to the sound of rustling at his window. He reached across the bed for his short spear, gripped it tight, and waited, listening, still.

The sound continued, the intruder sloppy, and Ferdinand waited until he heard the lock break open and the window creak before leaping from his bed.

The man was dead before Ferdinand had time to think. His death was swift, quiet, and he went still on the other end of Ferdinand’s spear. He blinked a few times, finally noticing the weight, the blood, the smell, the stains on his nightclothes.

He swallowed the revulsion that welled in him suddenly, and forced himself to release a breath. It shuddered out of him, weak to the point of breaking. _You’re alive,_ he told himself, _you’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive._

It wasn’t the first attempt at Ferdinand’s life. In fact, this week alone, it had been the fourth, and he’d stopped counting the total somewhere after the 15th attempt. And he would be foolish to think it would be the last.

He knelt down to examine the assassin, to see what method he would have died from this night had he not awoken in time. A knife, with a false bottom containing a vial of poison. Tacky. He rifled through his clothes, and sure enough, found a note. Not all the assassins who’d attempted this had brought a note, but a fair bit of them did. He unfolded the note, and there, in plain lettering, was the message:

_If you’re reading this, my regards. Tread lightly, Prime Minister to-be._

_-Lord V_

He quickly checked the room, checked the windows, checked the doors, everything else was secured and un-tampered. His sigh of relief was short lived, quickly replaced with a duller sort of anxiety that thrummed through him.

It was nearly dawn, so he decided to abandon sleep, again. He cleaned the body, rolled it in an old sheet and left it near the window to be dealt with when he had the strength.

He cleaned his spear, and settled it back on the bed, then brought the note to his desk, and dropped it in the drawer with the 6 identical notes from previous failed assassins. He wanted to throw them all in the fire, but he wasn’t hasty enough to believe erasing the evidence would erase the threat.

He sighed as he closed the drawer, and went to examine the tampered window. His hands were restless, shaky. He wished he hadn’t polished his weapons perfect the night before; it would have given him something to do now. He wondered, as he looked out to the pastures of fields that he roamed as a child, if this constant fear was a feeling he would have to grow accustomed to. If he would ever sleep properly again.

Ferdinand raked a hand through his hair. It was longer now, just long enough to start being a nuisance. He tried not to think of all the loose hairs that caught in his fingers. It felt like more and more came out each time he combed his fingers through.

He decided to brew himself a cup of tea. Beyond that he didn’t have much of a plan, but tea was a good start. He used to have tea with many of his friends—Constance, Lorenz, the professor—but nowadays he was quite alone. Even as a boy, he never drank tea alone. Even when his father refused his company (which was so often that Ferdinand could count the times he’d accepted on one hand), a distant relative or another young noble would drink with him. Or, very long ago, his mother. Perhaps solitary tea was another feeling he would have to grow accustomed to.

Before Ferdinand could take his first sip, a knock came at the door, causing him to flinch. _If they were here to kill you, they would not announce themselves,_ he reasoned to his thrashing heart. He went to the door.

It was a courier, with an official letter from the Emperor. She apologized for disturbing him so early, but heard the kettle brewing, so surmised he would be awake. He thanked her, then dismissed her and closed the door behind her. The crest of the double-headed eagle was stamped into the wax seal and Ferdinand thumbed across it. He braced himself, then opened the letter.

It was a summons. The Emperor requested his presence at the capital. Though, partway through the letter, the writing became a bit more casual. Edelgard was inviting him to stay with her, to help her and Hubert manage their work.

For not the first time in recent weeks, Ferdinand thought:

 _Lord V_. Vestra.

So this was it, then. They were tired of sending half-wit assassins and Hubert needed to take matters into his own hands.

At first, Ferdinand scoffed. Why would he walk willingly into a trap, and a painfully obvious one at that? But then he remembered the courier’s knock, how it had frightened him, and his reasoning. _If they were here to kill you, they would not announce themselves._ So, what, Hubert was planning on squeezing every last drop of usefulness out of Ferdinand before ending it all? It was a ruthless plot, much like Hubert himself.

 _Not always,_ an odd voice crept up in him.

-

He’d found Hubert outside of the stables, looking upset as he stared at the dirt. Hubert’s emotions were always so subtle, so slight, but that made Ferdinand all the more determined to catalogue and decipher them. Sitting on a barrel, arms crossed and hunched into himself, Ferdinand knew immediately something was not well.

“Were you not on Sky Watch duties this afternoon?” Ferdinand asked him as he approached.

Hubert groaned in irritation. “Were you not taught to mind your own business?” he mocked, scathing. It stoked Ferdinand’s anger.

“You should at least be _watching_ the skies, if you are incapable of flying.”

Ferdinand expected Hubert to retort against that, to explain that he was most emphatically not incapable of flying. But he didn’t. His gloved fingers twitched, tightening against his arm.

“Hubert?” Ferdinand asked, approaching slowly, as he would an injured horse. “You _can_ fly, can you not?”

“Before you say anything, it is _not_ the same as riding. There are many variables to consider!” Ferdinand blinked at him. “You must adjust for windspeed, trajectory, height, weather. You are constantly vulnerable to arrows; should your horse take one unlucky hit, they crumble and you plummet!”

Ferdinand blinked at him again. “I did not know you put such thought into this.”

Hubert seemed to relax, opening up from his crossed arms into a more casual position. Had these thoughts been weighing on his mind? Had he been waiting for the opportunity to express them properly?

“Being so high in the air, feeling the wind threaten to topple you at any moment, you can understand, can’t you? Looking down is the worst part, undeniably, because you are reminded just how helpless you are in the air.”

“Hubert, are you…are you afraid of heights?”

Hubert bristled, and Ferdinand could not help smiling. Seeing him so riled up, so confused and vulnerable, was a rare sight.

“It’s a natural fear,” Hubert reasoned. Ferdinand laughed warmly.

A gentle breeze blew by, and that was when Ferdinand noticed it was a lovely day. And easy day for Sky Watch, low winds, bright skies, high visibility. But here Hubert was, afraid. His honesty stirred a small realization in Ferdinand. Hubert could be things like scared and honest, he could be gentle.

“I rather love heights, myself. I love seeing the land from up high, admiring its beauty from a new angle,” Ferdinand told him, coming to sit next to him.

He expected Hubert to recoil, to shift away, but instead he seemed to relax a bit more. It was odd; they were disagreeing with each other, and Ferdinand had found out one of Hubert’s weaknesses. Should this not mean they’d be at each other’s throats? But he liked this Hubert, one who was gentler, off his game, reaching for reassurance. He didn’t know Hubert could do such things. He wondered how he could get him to do it again.

“For your information,” Hubert began, no trace of poison in his voice, “I wasn’t hiding. I was regarding the scorpion grasses.”

He pointed, and Ferdinand looked. Delicate petals, curved like scorpion tails, sprouted up from under several crates. They should not have been able to grow here, outside the stables. Nothing should. Yet here they were, growing anyways, a dark blue that mirrored the sky.

“Scorpion grass? I have not heard that name for them.”

“Well, what would you call them, then?”

“Forget-me-nots.”

Hubert had raised an eyebrow, likely to laugh at the sentimentality and length of the name. But he hadn’t laughed. He looked to the flowers, then to Ferdinand, and then back to the flowers.

-

The third day into Ferdinand’s carriage ride to the capital, he wondered if he was making a mistake.

He had agreed to it rather suddenly, hadn’t he? His reasoning went something along the lines of ‘If Hubert is going to kill me, I should at least like him to do it in front of me.’ He’d tossed in the idea that if he died, his paranoia would cease, which brought a dark sort of comfort to his mind. And having something to do other than over-polish his armor in the dark hours of the morning might provide a sense of relief.

And, a small, small part of him wondered if there was still a fragment of Hubert that was soft. A fragment of Hubert that still liked scorpion grasses.

Ferdinand supposed that “Lord V” could have been a number of other things. Count Varley came to mind, or one of the lesser lords whose names started with ‘V’. And that was just the other nobles; a jealous commoner could certainly want his head. It could have been more poetic than descriptive, perhaps standing for “Vendetta” or “Vigilante”. But no matter how he mulled or reasoned, his mind kept getting caught on “Vestra”. He supposed it was closest to his heart.

It was absurd, Ferdinand knew. How many dreams had he had now where Hubert brought a blade to his throat while he slept? The war had changed Hubert, or maybe this was who Hubert was all along: a conniving, backstabbing snake. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Hubert wanted to kill him.

The carriage crossed over a lovely river, though Ferdinand couldn’t find it in him to enjoy it. He would have another three days of travel, after all. And every inch they crept closer to Enbarr was another inch closer to Hubert’s blade.

He thought back to the notes on several of the assassins. _If you’re reading this, my regards._ So vague and misleading. Surely Hubert would have used more decisive words. He was always so careful, so calculated. Though, he could imagine the note in Hubert’s voice, dark and raspy while bringing a knife closer to Ferdinand’s neck. But, would Hubert been as careless as to send a sloppy assassin wielding a knife with a poison compartment? Hubert was thorough, and liked matters to be tied neatly. Why send such an amateur to kill him?

 _Tread lightly_ , it had warned. But how? What did they want from him? Surely if they wanted favors or land or treaties, there were better ways to accomplish that? And why bother sending a note if you expected your target to be dead?

Ultimately, Ferdinand decided it didn’t matter who Lord V was, or who any of the other assassins were. They wanted him dead; that was all that mattered.

And more than likely, Hubert wanted him dead, too. Ferdinand would give him as few chances as possible to do so.

-

Ferdinand had just begun to change for bed when he heard a knock at his door. He sighed, and hastily swiped at his eyes and nose with his handkerchief. How many more times was he going to let his fear manifest as tears? He quickly checked his appearance in his vanity: untidy, but not overtly noticeable.

He hoped it was Edelgard. She would be understanding if she saw him in such a state. She had personally received him when he arrived, and she was looking better than he’d feared, if a little tired. She was shorter than he’d remembered; he must have grown taller.

He had expected his and Edelgard’s reunion to be stiff and awkward. The things she had done to his father. The things his father had done to her. Ferdinand did not know all of the details, but he knew his father was not so innocent as he had claimed at the trial. His father had always been a vain, selfish man, and Ferdinand wasn’t sure he could say he had ever loved him. But to have everything you’ve ever known ripped from you without warning? To be thrown to the wolves without a second thought? He understood the feeling.

But Edelgard had embraced him warmly. It shocked him into politeness, and brought out the enthusiasm he hadn’t known he still possessed. She was amiable, and seemed grateful to see him. It made him feel that his choice was the correct one.

When Ferdinand opened the door, it was in fact, not Edelgard. It was Hubert.

His hair had grown a bit, dark and stringy. It was as if a portion of Edelgard’s strife manifested into Hubert. The last time Ferdinand had seen Hubert’s eyes, they looked like young, hesitant saplings in a forest. Now he wasn’t sure what they looked like. Resolute, vindictive. Murderous.

“What is it?” Ferdinand demanded. Already he was tired of looking at Hubert. Already he felt the familiar leap in his pulse, like the moment before he ran his blade through an assassin.

“Good to see you, too,” Hubert replied, his voice eerily light. “You missed dinner.”

Ferdinand didn’t like it. Why not just kill him now? “I informed Edelgard,” he replied, surprised by the small waver in his voice. Leftover from the tears.

“I am aware. Is there a reason why you cancelled?”

Ferdinand couldn’t stand Hubert’s eyes a moment longer. Why wouldn’t he go away already? Why wouldn’t he just kill him already? Why bother making this more painful than it had to be? Betrayal surely came easy to men like Hubert. Why continue with this charade?

Ferdinand sighed, still looking towards the floor. His hair caught at the edges of his vision. “It was a long journey. I believe I informed her of that as well.”

“I was not informed,” Hubert said. Ferdinand almost scoffed. “And if that is the case, it would be best if you rested tomorrow before your instruction.”

Ferdinand shook his head. It wasn’t like Hubert to fake concern. “I would prefer if we start as soon as possible.”

Hubert was quiet for a moment. Pondering ways to dispose of Ferdinand’s body, likely. Pitying him for being the weak son of a weak man, for being rattled by sloppy assassins and solitary tea times.

Finally, he spoke. “Then I shall see you tomorrow morning, in my office.” Ferdinand nodded, then at last closed the door.

He slumped up against the wood and let out a shuddering breath. _You’re alive,_ he told himself, gripping his body to will it to reality. _You’re alive._

But for how much longer?

-

Sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room, Ferdinand couldn’t be all that surprised when he awoke again from a nightmare.

This one had been even more vivid. Seeing Hubert yesterday, he was able to fill in some of the gaps in his imagination. Like, the way his hair would fall as he leaned over Ferdinand’s bed. The outline of his silhouette, the shadow it would cast in the moonlight. The shape of his fingers as he gripped the blade deftly.

Ferdinand reached a hand up to his throat, covering the exact spot he’d dreamt he’d been struck. The skin was smooth, if hot and damp with sweat. _You’re alive._

The sky was just shy of being light, which meant he could reason to himself that it was late enough to prepare for the day. He rose from his bed and approached the vanity with a groan. His hair teased against his shoulders now, not long enough to stay put behind them on its own, but long enough to pretend that it could. He combed through it, willing it as neat as he could, and had half a mind to hack it all off. But he reminded himself that he would be dead before the week was out. He could deal with a bit of extra hair for a few days.

He sighed at the bags underneath his eyes, and wondered which was more noticeable: those, or his unsightly freckles. Both embarrassingly ignoble, both prominent on his face, as if to scream: “Look at Ferdinand von Aegir! He has failed everyone around him!” The bags he brought upon himself, but the freckles were beyond his control. His father had always told him he’d grow out of them. Then again, had his father ever been correct about anything? Had he ever once told the truth, ever once been honest with Ferdinand?

Had anyone?

Ferdinand didn’t like the thought. There was quickly building a chasm in his chest, one that he only noticed when it tore open wider. He felt it at that thought, he felt the way the words pulled at the seams. He stood quickly and strode to Hubert’s office without further delay.

He waited anxiously in the office. Left unlocked, it clearly could not have been hiding anything important. A front, in all likelihood. A place to receive guests and diplomats, separated from unsightly poisons and weapons. In theory, that would make this room safe. But nothing about Hubert was safe.

Finally, Hubert arrived. “And here I thought I would be early. That eager to try and best Edelgard? Did you even sleep at all last night?”

Ferdinand didn’t bother responding.

Hubert’s composure stumbled a fraction, though he recovered quickly enough. Always so quick. He began explaining the duties Ferdinand would need to carry out, and Ferdinand took careful notes. Hubert was entrusting him with quite a lot. Ferdinand had many questions, a plethora aching at the back of his tongue, but he bit them down, save for the essential ones. Hubert paused at several junctures, as if waiting for Ferdinand to interject, but he had no reason to.

Ferdinand asked a clarifying question on a stack of papers that seemed pressing, and Hubert’s eyes widened a fraction. Ferdinand didn’t know what it meant. Hubert was so difficult to read, particularly now, with him covertly planning the murder of his new assistant.

But Ferdinand did exactly as he was told. The transition went smoother than he expected, and he began to find himself almost at home amongst the paperwork. He had been right; it was a relief to have something to do. Something to stave off the horrid thoughts that picked at the chasm in his chest, the anxiety that thrummed in the back of his skull.

Hubert’s filing system was difficult to decipher at best, and horrendously useless at worst. And he was so quick to leave out the nuance of issues, to his own detriment. Some of Hubert’s suggestions were positively outlandish. But Ferdinand would be dead in a few days, so he cared not. Besides, voicing his concerns would mean more time spent in Hubert’s presence, which was a sure way to die a swifter death.

-

Through the next several weeks, Hubert kept finding convenient excuses to force Ferdinand into his company. He began with outright insults, then switched to thinly-veiled ones, then eased his way into backhanded compliments. This manipulation tactic was surely slow and cumbersome. Why hadn’t Hubert just run him through already?

Hubert had to away for a battle in the Hyrm territory, and upon the news, Ferdinand nearly wept with relief. Perhaps he would finally sleep. Perhaps the battle would drag on for ages and ages, keeping his predator at bay.

Hubert left a list of tasks for Ferdinand to accomplish in his absence, which Ferdinand set to happily. One of which was re-designing Hubert’s ridiculous indexing system. So he even knew it was outdated, then. Which begged the question: why allow Ferdinand to update it? Why pretend to trust him? Would Hubert kill him upon his return if it wasn’t up to his standards, or would he simply give Ferdinand another arduous task and pretend to place further trust in him? How much trust would Hubert pretend to give before he cracked?

The night that Hubert left, Ferdinand did not dream of him slitting his throat in his sleep. Instead, he dreamt of an unknown assassin killing him. He was quicker to wake this time, the moon still high in the sky, and he went through his regular routine of checking the windows and doors for any sign of tampering. _You’re alive, you’re alive._

Even with Hubert gone, the fear still lingered. He supposed he’d have to be naïve to think he was safe merely because of a bit of distance. If Hubert were indeed Lord V, distance certainly never stopped him when Ferdinand was still in Aegir.

Ferdinand tied back his hair, and set to work. It was better than imaging all the ways Hubert could kill him. All the ways he could lure Ferdinand into security before plunging a dagger into his back.

-

When Hubert returned after a few weeks, Ferdinand didn’t want to look at him. Not even a reprieve from Hubert offered him rest. “Rearranged your documents,” Ferdinand informed him, attention rooted to his quill and his desk. “Let me know if it is sufficient.”

Quietly, Ferdinand felt his heart begin to race as Hubert reviewed his work. Was this it? Would he kill him now? Surely he had a dagger on him—he always carried at least two at any given moment during their academy days. Ferdinand reached his free hand, subconsciously, up to cover his neck where Hubert struck him in his dreams.

“Good work,” Hubert said, with a genuine-sounding sense of praise. “It is better than I expected.” _You’re alive._

Another backhanded compliment; clearly a bait. Ferdinand wanted to scoff. Did Hubert think he was daft? A part of him wanted to shout and protest Hubert’s manipulations, to ask him forthright what the hell he thought he was doing.

But there wouldn’t be much of a point. Ferdinand would be dead in a few days. So he said nothing, and nodded as a means of dismissal, and didn’t breathe again until Hubert shut the door as he left.

-

Hubert tried even more aggressively at his manipulation game. He played at being overtly hostile, he played at being gentle and sweet, both tactics equally as dishonest. Ferdinand grew tired of it. He grew tired of Hubert pretending to trust him, to show concern for him, to like him. Ferdinand’s hair grew longer.

Hubert was never a generous man, but Ferdinand thought he’d grown to know him during their days at the academy. It had started out fierce and horrific, but slowly they learned to stomach one another’s presence. At least, that was what Ferdinand thought. But when the war started, everything changed. Duke Aegir was arrested and stripped of everything with a snap of Edelgard’s fingers, leaving Ferdinand alone. His father had never made great company, but at least he did make company.

As Ferdinand watched Hubert, he’d begun to notice things about him. The way he liked to cross his arms, his right atop his left, every time. The way his too-sharp cheekbones seemed to be filling in. The gentle waves in his hair, like waves on the Enbarr shores at night.

He surmised Hubert did not spend nearly so much time thinking of him. Perhaps Hubert had forgotten Ferdinand’s existence, and that was why he yet lived. Apathy, rather than cunning or dedication.

His suspicions were confirmed one day when Hubert asked if he’d changed his cologne. He hadn’t. Was that how little Hubert cared for him now, was that how diminished their connection had become?

Ferdinand wasn’t sure why the thought bothered him so much. Hubert had always hated him, but he had grown comfortable with that idea. As children, he looked down on him, and he never passed up an opportunity to start a fight at the academy. Bickering and fighting was the way they acknowledged each other, and now Hubert didn’t even want that any more.

So what? Was it better if Hubert killed him through hatred, rather than boredom? Either way, he would be just as dead. Why did it matter?

Hubert was normally so observant, alarmingly observant, and now he hadn’t taken the care to notice a blatantly obvious detail about Ferdinand. Betrayal surely came easy to a man like Hubert, but that did not mean stomaching it was easy for a man like Ferdinand.

Not that he should have been surprised. Did he truly think, what, that Hubert kept him alive because he wanted him to be? An absurd notion. 

-

As he grew more used to the rhythm they’d established, Ferdinand found it easier to force himself to be positive in Edelgard’s presence. She tended to be struck spontaneously with far-off, painful looks. She must have been thinking of the professor. He tried his best to assure her with his smiles, and help her make proper, informed decisions. When he died in a few days, he wanted Edelgard’s final memories of him to be positive ones.

The hardest part of staying at the palace was searching for sleep. He could never find it when he tried; instead it always found him—visions of blades and blood prickling his eyes. And if he did not find it at night, it was apt to find him at most inopportune moments during the day.

During one particular meeting, Ferdinand found himself dangerously close to drifting to sleep, so he kept himself awake by studying Hubert. He was giving a report on a minor battle, and he spoke with such subdued gestures and the tiniest of hitches in his cadence. Ferdinand flipped through his mental catalogue of Hubert’s expressions that he’d made while at the academy. The slight twinge in his brow ridges, the flatness in his eyes, the fits of higher pitches flitting their way through his mouth. This was Hubert irritated, but pretending he wasn’t. Hubert liked to do that, pretend he wasn’t feeling his current emotion. He must have thought it made him more difficult for others to decipher. Or perhaps, he did it to hide from himself.

Hubert’s hair had grown longer as well, long enough to pull back with a tidy black bow. His bangs were pulled back a bit, revealing more of his face. It had grown stunningly handsome, in a way that made Ferdinand’s chest feel tight.

He wanted to laugh at himself. _Attracted_ to Hubert? It was revolting. He must have been confusing his fear for attraction. Regarding someone constantly, day after day, where every time you look or think of them, you drown in a wave of adrenaline? The two could easily have been mistaken. The anxiety and insomnia were catching up to him, giving him odd and wildly disturbing thoughts. Maybe it was another way his mind had invented to torment him, just in case he had become too comfortable with his current level of self-loathing.

Though, he supposed, in this moment between sleep and lucidity, in front of Edelgard and several generals, he was almost safe. Safer than he’d been in months, perhaps. Would it be so awful to watch Hubert, watch the way his mouth moved around his words, watch the rhythm of his fingers drumming on his arms? When Hubert finally killed him, at least the last face he’d ever see was a handsome one.

The thought stiffened him from sleep. He decided he wouldn’t look at Hubert ever again. He focused on drawing small doodles on the margins of less-important papers. He drew horses and knights and tried to draw various weapons from memory. He thought, for a traitorous moment, of drawing his mother.

-

“Mother, look! I am Miss Casagranda!” Seven-year-old Ferdinand beamed at his mother as he held a wooden sword aloft, swinging it wildly with no grace but boundless enthusiasm.

Lady von Aegir chuckled. “Yes, I see! With a bit more practice, why, you will be on stage alongside her.”

Ferdinand’s smile split his cheeks, freckles dancing across his face. He and his mother were taking a stroll in the Aegir gardens that afternoon after a matinee at the opera. The tickets, and the commemorative sword, were both gifts from a lord with daughters roughly Ferdinand’s age. Said lord and Duke Aegir were speaking heatedly when Ferdinand’s mother grabbed his hand and guided him outside.

“Mother,” Ferdinand began, bouncing around her as he swung the sword. “Why was father so cross with that man who arrived?”

His mother shook her head. “I am not certain, my love. The conversation turned from the topic of marriage to a much more frightening discussion.”

Ferdinand tilted his head. “Is Father afraid?”

“He is not a very brave man,” she chose. She could have said so much more, on his cowardly secrets and greedy, half-witted tactics, on his scathing words in their bedchambers, on his late-night meetings with men who seemed to slither from shadows. But she knew her place.

She took hold of her son’s free hand with both of hers, their skin the same shade of tawny and sun-kissed. “Which is why I need you to be brave enough for the both of you. Can you do that?”

Ferdinand smiled – he was always brave. “Of course! I will be so brave that father will not have to worry.”

“It’s a promise,” Duchess Aegir said as she kissed his hand. “Will you be braver than the knights in the opera?”

Ferdinand grinned. “Braver than Miss Casagranda! Braver than the emperor! Braver than the goddess!” He rushed ahead while his mother laughed, sword filled with determination. He swung at imaginary foes, vanquishing them with one fell-swoop and enthusiastic sound-effects.

“Ferdinand, watch your step--!” his mother called suddenly. But he didn’t hear the warning in time, and tumbled into a rose bush. The thorns tore at his clothes, shredding one of his favorite outfits. Scratches covered him, some just deep enough to bleed a bit, and he began to cry.

“Mother, I’m so sorry. The clothes you gave me, they’re—I didn’t mean—”

“Hush,” she told him, scooping him into her arms. He didn’t flinch at her touch, which told her he was safe. She kept her voice light as she told him, “You’re not hurt so badly. You’ll recover just fine.”

He frowned. She was right, the pain was not so much. “B-but, your clothes! And, if father, if he sees, he will…he will…”

She put a hand on Ferdinand’s head and tucked it into her shoulder. “He won’t see. We’ll get you changed before he has time to notice. And I can always get you more clothes, all right?” Her voice was equal parts determined and soothing. It always was.

-

After a particularly restful war meeting, one where Hubert hadn’t been able to attend, Ferdinand caught Edelgard placing her head into her hand and sighing heavily. She was thinking of the professor.

“Edelgard, I was wondering…might I inquire of a delicate matter?”

Edelgard lifted her head and caught his eyes. The violet in her eyes was still vibrant, still lively, even if there were obvious lines underneath. “Speak your mind, Ferdinand.”

He tarried a moment until all the others had left, then turned to her. “It is about the professor.”

She nodded. “I thought it might be.”

“I catch you saying ‘If only the professor were here’ on a near-weekly basis.” He waited for her reaction, but she was quiet. “I…are you well? I wished to make certain that you were not running yourself ragged.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “Thank you for your concerns, Ferdinand, but you need not worry.” She went to the window and gazed out at the Adrestian sea. “Now is perhaps the most challenging part of my life, but it is also the easiest.”

“Easiest?” he asked, coming to stand next to her.

“The professor may not be here now, but she is out there, doing her best to survive. It pushes me to do my best as well. It reminds me that I must take care of myself, so that I will live to see her return.”

She had that far-off look in her eyes again. She was always so far away when she thought of the professor. Ferdinand wondered if her loneliness mirrored his own, he wondered for a brief moment if it would be safe to open up to her.

But then her eyes returned to the present, sharp. She was the Emperor again. And he was here to assist her, and shape the world she was making. He had no right to reveal any of the chasm in his chest.

“That is good to hear, then,” he told her, with a smile as real as he could muster. “I had been worried that another loss might…devastate you.”

He held his breath. He hadn’t realized the truth of his words until he’d said them. Was that why Hubert had refrained thus far from slitting his throat? For fear Edelgard would be hurt?

“Loss is part of change. Blood is part of war. The only way I know to go forward is through,” she replied, resolute and charismatic and poetic. She would be fine, then, if Ferdinand were to be dead in a few days. Edelgard would endure without him.

The thought was bittersweet, both comforting and scathing. She was so strong, he wasn’t certain there were any alive who could match her strength. That was good. It meant that when he died, the empire would continue, and she could bring the peace they longed to see. But he would never have the chance to reach her. He would never _see_ that world, he wouldn’t be standing at her side when it happened.

“Besides,” she continued, “I have you and Hubert at my side.”

Ferdinand wanted to laugh. _Not for much longer,_ he thought of telling her. Edelgard had acknowledged his contributions, had _praised_ his efforts, but he could not find it in him to feel satisfaction or joy. He felt bitter. He felt the chasm opening a little wider.

Ferdinand clenched his fists. He didn’t know when Hubert would finish him, but when he did, Ferdinand wanted to make certain he had tied up all of his loose ends. He took a deep breath.

“Edelgard, I must confess something to you.” She looked to him, interest caught. “After my father was arrested, I performed a bit of research. Sorting through his old notes in his office, I discovered that he must have been involved in some horrific events. It was not just the Insurrection of the Seven, he had…well, I do not know most of the details. But I do know he is responsible for crimes against you and your family.”

Edelgard stared at him, eyes wide and stunned. He swallowed, and continued. “If…if apologizing on his behalf could atone for his atrocities, I would be on my hands and knees, forehead pressed to the floor.”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard breathed.

“I cannot change the past. But if you will allow me, I would like to help you shape the future, as much as I am able.”

Edelgard smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said. “That means more than you know.”

Ferdinand forced himself to smile for her. When he did, the chasm in his chest pulled open a little wider.

-

Ferdinand had found himself ahead of schedule on his work, so he decided he would pick up a personal side project. The Imperial Palace surely had many secret passageways, ones with which both Hubert and Edelgard must have been intimately familiar. Which put Ferdinand at a severe disadvantage.

He began his research at the library, searching for old blueprints and anecdotes that he could piece together for a more complete picture. It only took a day before Ferdinand had mapped out several possible routes Hubert could take to arrive at his room.

That night, Ferdinand tied back his hair, chose a cloak with a long hood, and brought a lantern with him as he set to explore the passageways. It did not take long before he found a hint: two people carrying on a conversation in hushed tones, faces obscured. Ferdinand blew out his lantern and listened around a corner.

“Lord Hubert requests this message delivered to Lord Arundel,” said one of them, a masculine voice.

“Understood,” replied the other. Her voice was feminine. Ferdinand heard a rustling of what sounded like paper. “Volkhard von Arundel…we’ll discover what you’re up to sooner or later.”

Suddenly, Ferdinand was seized with a horrid possibility. Lord Volkard von Arundel. _Lord V_.

It made sense. He had the resources, and he was far less thorough than Hubert. He was the type of man who would send assassins with false-bottomed daggers. Perhaps Hubert had been working with him? Had he offered Ferdinand’s life as a bargaining chip? Or maybe Hubert’s bloodthirst was unrelated to Arundel, and they both happened to want Ferdinand dead independently.

“You settling in yet, rookie?” the female voice asked, cutting Ferdinand’s thoughts.

“It’s nice,” the male voice said. “Lord Hubert is clever and reliable. And surprisingly kind!”

Ferdinand didn’t know what was so kind about planning to murder your ex-classmate in cold blood.

The female voice chuckled. “You wouldn’t think it from looking at him. But he’s a pleasure to work for. You always know where his allegiance lies, and he pays attention to small details. A spy can’t ask for more.”

Ferdinand had heard quite enough. He trudged back the way he came, a hand running along the wall to guide him in the dark. He had come for information on Hubert, but this was beyond insulting. _Kind, reliable, a pleasure to work for._ Sickening. It must have been nice, to feel that Hubert would never cut your throat while you slept.

 _You always know where his allegiance lies._ Ferdinand wanted to spit in her face when she had said that. Ferdinand had been nothing but supportive to Edelgard these long, long months together, yet Hubert still wanted to kill him. _He pays attention to small details_ , does he? Like what? Like Ferdinand’s cologne not changing? He was _so_ observant then.

Or perhaps like the way Ferdinand’s jaw met his neck, where the vulnerable part of his throat was? Or maybe like Ferdinand’s disgustingly long hair, or his unsightly spots that infected his skin, or the loneliness and anxiety that wrapped around his ankles like iron?

The worst part of the spies’ exchange was that, for a moment, Ferdinand thought he felt himself agreeing with them.

-

Ferdinand had caught Hubert sneaking out of his room in Garreg Mach one night, and decided to follow. Hubert kept glancing discreetly in every direction, careful to watch his surroundings without seeming suspicious. But Ferdinand had anticipated that, and kept far away and quiet. Hubert ducked into a crumbling gap in the walls that lead to a dark stairwell, lighting a small _Fire_ spell in his hand.

Ferdinand followed the light, as close as he dared, as they descended the stairwell. He had never been beneath the monastery before. It was dark and clammy, and he kept almost choking on the damp air. But Hubert’s footsteps never wavered, so Ferdinand remained steadfast.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Ferdinand followed Hubert’s light down a long hallway. Hubert took several turns, Ferdinand quietly chasing the tip of his shadow across the floor. Rats skittered across the floors, water from far off dripped and sloshed in an echo, and all kinds of hushed voices filled the air.

The hallway tapered off into a large cavern, cobblestone bricks shifting into flat dirt. Hubert cast the fire from his hand up to the ceiling, filling the cavern briefly with light.

There, in the corner, was a horrific monster.

Ferdinand inhaled sharply. It seemed at first glance like a demonic beast, but when it breathed out, it sounded almost like a human wail. It had horrible ruptures in its scales, blank spots where it looked like skin should have been. It had hair festering in random patches across its body. It skulked on its hind legs, but its front legs, decorated with sharp, hideous claws, scratched across the ground.

When the beast stared into Ferdinand’s eyes, he couldn’t help a gasp.

Hubert spun around, spotted him, then furrowed his brow and snarled. Ferdinand didn’t need to have a catalogue to know Hubert was furious.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed, approaching slowly. Behind him, the beast’s ear twitched.

“You were acting suspicious,” Ferdinand whispered back, crossing his arms.

“Go back this instant,” Hubert ordered, voice still low. He kept glancing over his shoulder to the beast, but the fire in his eyes was for Ferdinand.

“I do not know that I could even if I tried,” Ferdinand told him. “The hallways, the turns, they were all very confusing, and—”

“Shut up,” Hubert hissed once more. “Go. Shut up and go.”

Ferdinand shook his head. “You will not silence me!” he insisted. “You will answer my questions.”

But the beast in the corner let out a ferocious scream, and rushed towards them. Hubert cursed under his breath and grabbed Ferdinand’s wrist, racing back to the hallways. He pulled him around a bend into an alcove and pushed Ferdinand up into the wall. His forearm pressed across Ferdinand’s chest, running along his collarbone, and Hubert clamped his gloved hand on Ferdinand’s mouth.

The beast approached the cobblestone, but stopped and craned its ears in different directions, twitching wildly. Hubert pressed his hand further against Ferdinand’s mouth.

Finally, the beast gave up, and wandered back to its cavern.

Hubert held him for a few more moments, his breath close, before releasing Ferdinand with a sigh of relief.

Hubert lit a sconce on the wall with a fireball, lighting a section of the corridor. It was filthier in the brighter light, sections of the walls reduced to rubble and rot splattering across them. The light reached into the beginnings of the cavern, where the beast lay, but went no further.

“What was that?” Ferdinand asked, short of breath.

“A demonic beast,” Hubert said. He didn’t seem surprised, or even remotely unsettled by the amalgamation from the cavern below Garreg Mach.

“I have never seen a demonic beast like that before,” Ferdinand replied, leaning his head against the stone wall. Most demonic beasts were revolting, but at least they looked decidedly bestial. That thing…it was almost human. The memory of it made him feel queasy. He stuffed down a bit of bile that rose in his throat.

“That is for the best,” Hubert replied. “Pray you will never see one like it again.” He spoke as if he knew, as if such a horrid version of an already horrid creature was normal. As if he had seen it before.

Just what _did_ Hubert do? With his dark magic and poisons and sneaking off in the night? How did he know about this type of demonic beast? How was he already used to it?

“How long have you been in the shadows?” Ferdinand asked, eyes piercing into Hubert.

Hubert caught them, meeting Ferdinand. He couldn’t help a cackle. “Such a vague question,” he remarked, shaking his head.

Hubert walked towards a pile of rubble. “Are you asking how long I’ve been Lady Edelgard’s shadow?” He picked up a piece and tossed it a bit. “My entire life.” He let the rubble fall to the ground again. “Are you asking how long I’ve been dabbling in dark magic?” He held up his hand, fingers spread, and slid off his glove.

Ferdinand gasped. The tips had turned black, inky, drained of not only color but also life. “Long enough for it to stain my hands.” Hubert turned his hand front and back so Ferdinand could see the effects. The black scars traced down his fingers and clawed at his second knuckles, sickly dark purple eating at the white of Hubert’s skin.

He began stuffing his fingers back into the glove. “How long have I been wandering the catacombs?” Ferdinand held his breath. “A few days now.”

Ferdinand shook his head. “Solon, Kronya, the demonic beasts…they are connected, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known that?” Ferdinand accused sharply.

Hubert caught his eyes, remorse staining them. “Not long enough,” he said.

Ferdinand sighed. Hubert was keeping secrets, but even his extra knowledge hadn’t saved anyone. In fact, it seemed that all it did was force Hubert to wander sewers and study bastardizations of demonic beasts instead of rest. Is that what Hubert wanted? He had his affinity for the macabre, but this was something else.

“Is this where you go, then, at night?” Ferdinand decided to ask. “Our rooms are not so far, I notice when you return very late. Sometimes I do not hear you return at all, and the next day in class you look as if you never had.”

“Not here exactly, but yes. Trailing them, researching them, that is what much of my time is spent on.”

Ferdinand shook his head again. “And you do this for Edelgard?”

“Everything I do is for Lady Edelgard.”

Ferdinand huffed, bringing a hand to his hair. “That is what irritates me about you.” He closed some of the distance between them, coming closer to the rubble pile. “Have you no desires of your own? Have you nothing you long to do that you act upon?”

Hubert scoffed. “If it is so easy for you, perhaps you are the one who lacks restraint and foresight, like a child.”

Ferdinand narrowed his eyes. “I have half a mind to take my knuckles to your nose.”

“Do it, then. Show me how easy it is to act upon my desires,” Hubert dared, smirking. For a moment, Ferdinand considered it: Hubert’s face on his fingers. It sounded nice.

But Ferdinand sighed. “I cannot strike you after you saved my life.”

Ferdinand sank down next to the rubble, back against the wall and knees in the air. This had gone far worse than he expected.

Across from him, Hubert sunk to the ground as well. They sat facing each other on opposite ends of the narrow hallway, feet close enough to touch if either one moved a fraction.

Hubert raised a hand up to his forehead, sighing. “In truth, this isn’t for Lady Edelgard. Not really.” Ferdinand looked over at him. His eyes were tired. “You recall that her hair used to be brown, yes? Hair turning stark white all at once does not happen naturally. When it did…” Hubert swallowed. Ferdinand waited. “There was nothing I could do. I was powerless. I tried everything I could. I tried every method I knew, I tried methods I did not know, I cast my first dark magic spell, I cast thousands after that. But nothing changed.”

Hubert’s eyes turned dark and sickly as he concluded, “If I could not prevent her pain, then I would have my revenge for it.”

Hubert always did have a way of surprising Ferdinand when he least expected it. Months ago, it would have been impossible to imagine. But here, in the sewers underneath the monastery, Ferdinand could see it: a young Hubert, frantic and desperate to the point of madness. But for all his desperation and all his devotion, he could do nothing. 

Remorse drove Hubert to these extremes. It drove him to the sewers and other unsavory places, night after night, eating at him like a rat eats at garbage. His _actions_ were for Edelgard, no doubt, he was looking to find whoever had hurt her. Yet, Edelgard had never spoken of things like revenge. This motive, this anger, was Hubert’s alone.

Ferdinand stayed quiet for a moment, studying Hubert. The way his hair caught the fire light, black waves glowing in the shadows. The length of his fingers and the ease and dexterity with which he moved them, despite them being scarred. The closeness of their boots, their knees, in the corridor.

Ferdinand couldn’t help smiling. “It is amusing how even when we wish for things for ourselves, Edelgard manages to worm her way in. Your bloodlust comes from her pain; my ambition comes from her mastery.”

Hubert looked at him, and in an odd moment of vulnerability, smiled without poison. “You will never surpass Lady Edelgard.”

Ferdinand rolled his eyes. “I know, in your eyes, you will never see anyone above her. To you, she is an infallible goddess.”

“Incorrect. She’s human—fallible, afraid, struggling,” Hubert clarified. “No, the reason you will never approach her is because you always compare yourself to her. If you consider yourself in terms of Lady Edelgard, you will never amount to anything. It would only be if you considered yourself in terms of your previous self that you would see growth.”

Ferdinand looked back to Hubert, and that smile with no poison was still there. Despite the cold from the underground, Ferdinand felt warm. When Hubert led them back to their rooms, they walked side by side.

-

Ferdinand awoke early again, well before dawn. He was growing tired of hearing himself say _You’re alive_ every morning, and wondered how relieved he would feel to not have to say it. For it to no longer be true.

He bathed, and wrestled with his image once more in the mirror. Was it possible his freckles were growing _more_ noticeable? Festering on his skin like pox? Or maybe they simply looked that way because of his hair. It was long passed scrappy and unkempt at this point. He did his best to keep it clean and free of tangles, but surely it made him the laughing stock of the court in secretive circles. _Just a few more days,_ he told himself. Another phrase he was growing tired of.

-

It wasn’t until the sun began to dip behind the horizon that Ferdinand thought of eating.

He had reached a natural stopping point in his work—making any true progress at this point would require input from Hubert. It made sense to take a break and venture towards the kitchens.

Ferdinand set down his pen and sighed. He didn’t feel like eating, but it would be bad form to turn himself into a complete recluse. Perhaps he could ask the kitchens for some tea. They were very eager to answer his requests, and Edelgard had encouraged him to make use of the palace’s amenities.

He gathered his papers and set out towards the kitchens, nearly running straight into Edelgard.

He plastered on his brightest smile. “Edelgard! Good evening.”

She smiled back. “Good evening to you, Ferdinand.”

“Tell me, when did you awake this morning? Dawn? If so, then I have bested you! I awoke well before the sun even thought of entering the sky.”

Edelgard sighed, the hint of a smile still on her face. “I did not realize the act of waking up was a competition as well.”

For a moment, Ferdinand felt a small part of his smile turn genuine. Perhaps it was the nostalgia, from when his biggest concerns truly were whether he’d awoken before her. “Naturally! Everything that requires skill can become a contest.”

Edelgard shook her head, expression still light. “I actually slept in this morning. It was quite nice.”

“Oh, that is excellent to hear!” Ferdinand exclaimed, and found himself relieved when it was the truth.

“Because you have finally won against me?” Edelgard asked.

“Well, yes, that is not to be overlooked. But it is excellent because you have stayed true to your word. You are not running yourself ragged.”

Edelgard blinked at him, and then smiled. There were no windows in the hallway, but several adjacent rooms were bleeding light from the setting sun.

Edelgard was about to reply, but Ferdinand continued. “And that is good for several reasons. One because my friend is taking care of her health, which is always a treat. And secondly because the Emperor is true to her word. In truth, when I first arrived here, I did have my doubts. But they have been laid to rest. It is an honor and a privilege to serve you, even for just a short while.”

“Ferdinand,” Edelgard interjected before he could begin another sentence. “I wanted to thank you for coming once again. You have been an immense weight off of my shoulders, and Hubert’s as well.”

Hubert. Why was it that, even when avoiding him, Ferdinand could never avoid him?

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I can already see the effects of my efforts! Your hair has never looked lovelier,” Ferdinand flattered, steering the subject to something he could stomach.

Edelgard took a hand to her hair and ran it through thoughtfully. “Thank you. I’m glad you noticed. I’ve been trying a new ointment, and it’s doing wonders for the texture.”

“I do not know how you can take care of it all! It is twice as long as mine, yet I am already at my wit’s end with the stuff.” Ferdinand grabbed a fistful of his hair and let it fall dramatically for effect. It was nice to be able to interject his farce with some truth. It kept the creeping chasm at bay.

“Taking care of it is not so difficult. Yours looks healthy and cared for; I think you have already gotten used to the length.”

Ferdinand blinked at her. Had he?

“The true challenge is in styling,” Edelgard continued. “I am not much of a stylist. Hubert always braided it for me when I was young.”

Hubert. _Again._ “Is that so?”

“You wouldn’t think it looking at him, would you?” Edelgard asked, a conspiratorial smile on her face. “But he loves braiding hair. I could always catch him smiling in the vanity mirror when braiding. Maybe I should let him braid my hair again, if only once. He has been troubled by something lately.”

Finally, a useful piece of intrigue on Hubert. “Troubled? By what?”

Edelgard shook her head. “He won’t say. He’s had too much leisure these days. I had him go through your extra belongings, just to keep him from fidgeting so much. I hope that’s alright.”

Ferdinand hesitated. He had told Edelgard that anyone would be fine to clear it out, and he’d meant it. He’d also insisted that everything in there was junk, because it was. Maybe some paraphernalia, maybe mementos, but nothing a dead man would need. Yet despite that, it unnerved him, Hubert touching all of those memories. Ferdinand swallowed.

“That is quite all right. It needed to be done at some point. If leisure is his dilemma, should you like me to be less efficient?” he joked, forcing himself into a smile.

“No,” Edelgard said. She paused a moment, considering her next words. “Hubert is of course entitled to his privacy. But he has been especially stressed and desperate lately.”

“Has he?” Ferdinand asked. “He seems much the same to me.”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, then I’m sure it’s nothing,” Edelgard affirmed. “In truth, I’m almost jealous of how much he trusts you.”

Ferdinand couldn’t hide his scoff. “Hubert? Trusting anyone other than you?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, now. It wouldn’t be very noble,” she teased. “He always brings you up when we’re together these days. And he’s terrible at hiding it, but he has something on his mind. He brushes me off when I inquire. Perhaps you should ask him about it?”

“Perhaps I should,” Ferdinand muttered. He was going to die anyways, what was the harm in seeing if Hubert would at least tell him why? “In any case, thank you for your advice on hair care. Once I learn to braid, I will become even more fashionable than you!”

Edelgard laughed. “Don’t be silly. You’re already more fashionable than I am.”

Ferdinand was surprised by the genuine warmth that came from her words. Even now, with his horrid hair and horrid freckles and bare-bones hygiene that he disgusted himself with, Edelgard still considered him competent.

“Goddess above, more fashionable than the Emperor? What a splendid achievement! That is much more considerable a feat than waking up earlier than her. Though I admit, I feel I may have achieved this a fair bit too quickly. Do not tell me you have given up? A victory without challenge is merely a distraction.”

Edelgard smiled, but in a placating sort of way. “Try investing your efforts into something more worth your time, yes?”

Ferdinand forced a laugh. It hurt coming out of him, but it sounded real enough. “I will try.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ferdinand.” Edelgard said with a wave. The confidence she had that Ferdinand would live to see tomorrow astonished him. He wished he could feel the same.

“Goodbye, Edelgard,” he called, as cheerfully as the chasm in his chest would allow.

The moment she was out of sight, he deflated.

He’d forgotten he was holding his papers and they tumbled to the ground. He didn’t reach to pick them up right away. He stood, more tired than he’d ever been, and felt the shackles of loneliness and anxiety constricting every part of him. When he knelt to the ground to gather his papers, he doubted he would have the strength to stand up again.

Suddenly, from nowhere, Hubert appeared. As if summoned by his despair like a demon. As if reminding Ferdinand that all his attempts at self-improvement and positivity were ultimately worthless.

But Hubert was helpful, gathering his papers. And his bangs caught in the sunset like an onyx. Hubert handed the papers to Ferdinand. 

“Hubert,” Ferdinand said, standing. So Ferdinand had the strength to stand after all. “What is it?”

Hubert untucked a chest from under his arm and held it out. “I found this, in the midst of going through your belongings. It seemed important, and I wanted to run it past you before dealing with it.”

Ferdinand recognized it immediately: it was the box that held all of his favorite letters. It had been brought over with his non-essential things from Aegir in the move, stuffed into a storage room along with the rest of his belongings that he didn’t care for. He had completely forgotten its existence until now. How very like Hubert, to show him his worst demons right when he needed them the least. 

Ferdinand remembered every letter ever placed inside. Letters from his friends, letters that had made him smile, letters that made him ache and yearn. The box was a present from his mother, and he had placed their very first correspondence inside it for safe keeping. It had a false bottom, and in the compartment underneath was where he kept every single letter they had ever written each other.

Hubert played the fool now, but his cunning could topple empires with a moment’s notice. How probable was it that Hubert had already read everything? Looked through all of Ferdinand’s melodramatic, overemotional sentiments, seen the parts of him that had always disgusted Hubert the most? What was going through his mind as he read them? Did he feel pity or hatred? Or did he even care at all?

Maybe Hubert hadn’t read them. But either way, it didn’t matter. Ferdinand would be dead in a few days. What use had a dead man for scraps of paper?

“I have no need for that,” he stated coldly.

“I see.” A small breath, oddly like a sigh, escaped Hubert’s nostrils. “I found some tea-sets which are still in very good condition, some kind of ornate wooden chest…”

“Get rid of them. They are of no use to me.” What need was there for a tea set when you always drank alone? And he would be dead in a few days. Maybe in a few hours, with how close Hubert insisted on staying.

“Are you sure?” Hubert asked, still playing the fool. “With the chest, I did not check its contents. Is there nothing of value in there?”

Ferdinand clenched his fists. He was tired of remembering brighter days and simpler times, tired of remembering his mother. “It is only paper. It is of no use to me.”

“It seemed heavy,” Hubert noted. Why, _why_ was he _still here?_ Why wouldn’t Hubert just leave him alone?

“I would not have left it in that room otherwise,” Ferdinand finished.

“Understood.”

 _At long last,_ Ferdinand thought. _Please, just go away. Or kill me. Enough of your games, Hubert von Vestra. Enough of your lies and betrayal._

But Hubert didn’t leave, nor did he make a move towards harming Ferdinand. He stood, quite frozen, to the spot.

Then he blurted, “Have you eaten yet?”

Ferdinand blinked at him. He had forgotten that was the reason he’d left his office in the first place. “Why do you ask?”

“I am yet to this evening, and so, perhaps,” Hubert swallowed, as if he was nervous. It wasn’t like Hubert to be nervous. “We could have dinner together.”

-

Ferdinand knew he was walking into a trap.

Hubert was preparing everything, which meant every item at the table could have easily been poisoned. Ferdinand’s saving grace was knowing that Hubert preferred to slip poisons into drinks, rather than food. As long as he drank nothing, he could make it through the dinner alive.

As he chose a simple but fetching red vest, he wondered what in the goddess’ name he thought he was doing. This was a dinner with his future murderer. Why was Ferdinand going through the effort? Etiquette, he’d told himself, weakly. But was there any need to be polite and courteous to the man who wanted to kill you? Ferdinand hadn’t been polite, much less kind, to him in months. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper conversation with Hubert.

Ferdinand marched down the corridor towards the dinner hall, anxiety coursing through him with every step. _You’re alive_ , _you’re alive, you’re alive,_ he murmured to himself, as if it even mattered anymore. This would be his first meal all day, but he wasn’t sure there would be room in his stomach since it was already filled with anxiety.

Ferdinand spotted Hubert from the corridor, and watched him jolt suddenly, combing back his hair. Uncomposed. As if frantically trying to hide something. Hubert met him in the corridor and led him to a private table, away from witnesses.

Ferdinand was about to reach for his chair when Hubert pulled it out for him. _What the hell is this,_ Ferdinand thought, the question almost on his lips. What was Hubert planning? Chivalry, the moment before murdering your target? Hubert suddenly acting gallant and considerate, as if he hadn’t slipped poison into the drinks? Was he attempting to justify Ferdinand’s murder to himself in some way? It wasn’t like Hubert to be so squeamish around death.

“How is work?” Hubert asked once they were seated. He reached for a carafe of water between them, and Ferdinand studied him closely. Hubert wasn’t daft, but he was one for theatrics. Would he dare poison the drink with his victim watching?

“Fine,” Ferdinand said simply. Work was a simple topic to navigate. “I will need you to review those documents, about the Agricultural Union in Bergliez.”

“Oh. Good work,” he said, placing a glass of water in front of Ferdinand. If it was poisoned, it was odorless and had no color. At least Hubert wouldn’t insult his intelligence as he killed him. “And how are you?” Hubert continued.

Ferdinand felt like vomiting. His stomach was empty of food, but it was full of anxiety. _You’re alive._ “Fine.”

Why was Hubert going through all this trouble? Setting up a private dinner, pulling out his chair, subjecting himself to small talk? Hubert _hated_ small talk. Why was he putting himself through all of this? What was his aim? Ferdinand could think of no reason any of Hubert’s actions assisted in his murder.

Their food arrived, sautéed pheasant with a berry sauce and vegetables. One of the only foods they both enjoyed, Ferdinand noted, and served with great attention to detail: Albinean berries for the sauce, and seasonal vegetables with careful seasoning. To what end? Despite his nerves, the smell made him unbelievably hungry. He sighed, and took the smallest of bites.

Hubert breathed in deeply, enjoying the scent. “I believe that there should be a bottle of wine somewhere that ought to suit this particular dish—”

“You drink wine?” Ferdinand accused. Since when did Hubert drink wine?

Hubert stopped, halfway out of his chair and startled. “Yes…?”

Ferdinand didn’t believe him. Hubert had never cared for wine before. Why now, why at this dinner? There could be but one reason.

Was this the intent of the evening? To prevent the poisoned wine from seeming out of place? To lure Ferdinand in, trick him into believing it was an intimate meal between colleagues, before finishing him off? It was the only thing that made sense.

Hubert brought the wine in a chilled bucket, popped the cork and leaned the bottle towards Ferdinand’s glass.

Ferdinand held up a hand. “None for myself. I have work to be returning to after this.”

Hubert had the audacity to look hurt. It was subtle, the corners of his mouth pulling slightly down, but Ferdinand had been studying him closely, and knew him by now. “It…is late,” Hubert protested, bottle still hovering.

Ferdinand shook his head. “In recent times, sleep has eluded me. I often cannot sleep until late, and it is a better use of my time to work in the meantime,” he explained. His excuse was delightfully close to the truth, which served both the farce Hubert was forcing him into and the true gambit underneath. A way to show Hubert that he knew what he was planning.

Hubert looked to the label. It was a white wine, as Ferdinand preferred, a peach and vanilla blend he was quite fond of. Ferdinand didn’t know if it was a kindness or a cruelty that Hubert would have killed him with his favorite wine. “If that is the case,” Hubert reasoned, “then you could start work later in the morning. Afternoon, if it suited you.”

Hubert was desperate for Ferdinand to drink the wine. It was obvious, in the way he tried so hard to get him to taste it. But Ferdinand was more clever than that. “A meager attempt.”

“At?”

“To make me appear poorly in front of Edelgard.”

“It was not my intention,” Hubert said. Ferdinand wondered what excuse Hubert was going to give. “You are quite ahead in your work. It would not hurt to take a day to rest.”

A day to rest. More like the rest of his life, by Hubert’s plans. And just how exactly was Ferdinand supposed to rest when his dinner partner wanted to kill him, and wouldn’t tell him why?

“It makes me wonder why you invited me to dinner,” Ferdinand said, carefully, testing. He took a second bite of pheasant while he waited, and felt it churn in his empty, buzzing stomach.

“…It has been a while since we have eaten together,” Hubert said quietly. The words were so honest, so gentle, that they tore into Ferdinand’s heart. A last meal, then? Was that Hubert’s intention? A final goodbye, send him off warmly into the cold abyss of death?

But why? _Why?_

Hubert was far from the sentimental type. He was objective, and calculated, and collected. Yet all evening he had been considerate and fumbling over himself at every turn, almost to the point of doting. How could a man so callous act so sweet?

Hubert was going to kill him. He was planning it at this very moment, wanting Ferdinand to die. Yet here Hubert was, pulling out chairs and selecting fine meals and being honest. Was he feeling remorse for his actions? It wasn’t like Hubert to regret anything, much less murder. In all his years of knowing Hubert, Ferdinand had known him to regret exactly one thing, and it was not a man’s murder.

So then _why?_

How many times had Ferdinand said “I’ll be dead in a few days”? How many “few days” had passed where he yet lived? How had he gotten so far in his work, how had his hair gotten so long? Why hadn’t Hubert _killed him_ yet!?

Hubert’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Could I not tempt you into having a small glass? I believe it is to your tastes.”

Dying was very much not to Ferdinand’s tastes. His voice was resolute as he delivered his final edict: “I do not want wine.”

Hubert’s face fell once more. An emotion Ferdinand had catalogued as “crestfallen”. His eyes grew dull, his whole face drooped low, and he looked to the wine as if it had been some sort of lifeline.

Crestfallen. _Crestfallen._ Over Ferdinand not dying. He thought Hubert’s apathy over Ferdinand’s death had hurt, but this was a completely new kind of pain. It shot through him like lightning, hot and blurry and pulsing. How could Hubert do such a thing?

Why and how, why and how, Ferdinand asked himself over and over and over, and none of it ever made any sense. He wanted to shout and scream, to reach across the table and grip Hubert’s lapels and force answers out of him. But he would be dead in a few days, so it didn’t matter.

Would he be dead in a few days? Or was Hubert’s plan to torture him into eternity, with increasingly awkward dinners and compliments and honesties, to pretend to trust him and care for him more and more, to make his betrayal cut Ferdinand so deeply that he shattered?

Ferdinand couldn’t stomach another moment at the table. He excused himself from dinner, and the last look on Hubert’s face before he turned was heartbroken. He never would have guessed Hubert could look that way.

-

Ferdinand closed the door to his quarters and sunk to the floor with a hideous, shuddering breath, one that forced tears from his eyes. He gripped his hands to his head, pulling at his obscenely long hair, digging his nails into his skull as if it would anchor him. His breaths came so short and so fast that the effort of them ripped through his chest and his stomach. He braced his shaking elbows against each other, then against his knees, and felt his whole body shake.

“You’re alive,” he forced himself to say, the words coming out wet and broken. “You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive you’re alive you’realiveyourealive.” He sucked in a breath, and breathed out an incoherent string of _you’re alive_ ’s.

 _Hubert,_ he thought weakly, _why am I alive?_

Though he had danced around the word, he really had considered Hubert a friend. An odd one, but a reliable one. He’d saved him from a demonic beast, he’d lead him safely back to their rooms, he’d commiserated with him outside of the stables, he’d joined him for meals at the academy and bickered with him while tending horses, he’d played board games with him when they were boys.

Maybe the truth was, deep down, despite everything, Ferdinand had wanted Hubert to consider him a friend, too. And thinking back on the tightness and warmth that Hubert brought out in Ferdinand, maybe a part of him had wished for something more than friends.

But Hubert had killed that possibility. He hadn’t killed Ferdinand, not tonight, but he had killed any chance at reconciliation.

How many months had passed now, without any evidence or proof of Hubert’s plot, without a scratch on Ferdinand at all? So long with nothing to show for it except nightmares and spikes of panic. After everything that had happened—Edelgard’s worry for Hubert, his loyal spies, the very length of time it took for Hubert to kill him—Ferdinand had almost begun to wonder if there may have been hope.

Not after tonight.

A sob lurched out of Ferdinand, and he felt the pheasant bits churning violently in his stomach. He forced himself up and to a bucket, but after the first heave there was nothing left in him. He hunched over the bucket, coughing, gasping, retching, shaking, tears streaming down his face.

After what felt like an eternity, Ferdinand’s dry heaves finally ceased. He collapsed back against the floor, willing himself to take even breaths. The effort was arduous, but he did it, cheek against the floor and body curled in on itself.

Ferdinand von Aegir was not one to give up, not even in the most hopeless situations. But he hadn’t any further strength. He hadn’t any further hope.

As he laid on the floor, breaths evening out, exhaustion blanketing him, his last thoughts before sleep were:

_Hubert. Please, just kill me._

-

Weeks passed, and Hubert still had not killed him. Ferdinand was beyond speculation. Hubert was merely taking his time to formulate his next plan. And whatever it was, Ferdinand would accept it graciously.

It came in the form of an invitation to Hubert’s personal quarters. It was the most suspicious thing Hubert had ever done. Hubert had skulked the sewers of the monastery, he had skipped an entire month of school, he had practiced dark magic until his fingers turned black, and none of those compared to this.

But Ferdinand went willingly. Because he was tired. Because his hair had grown so, so long, because the chasm in his chest had torn it apart, because he never wanted to hear himself say _you’re alive_ ever again.

He knocked on the door, and Hubert answered in a rush, looking more nervous than Ferdinand had ever seen him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Hubert answered, airily. “Only that I happened to find some loose-leaf tea that was on the verge of spoiling. I was hoping that you could join me in sharing a pot, since I would be unable to finish it myself.”

Ferdinand looked down. So this was it, then. He was going to die, today, in Hubert’s room. After so long of suffering and wondering, the thought was almost a relief.

They sat at the tables and Hubert poured two cups, Ferdinand’s first. Ferdinand recognized the tea immediately: Southern Fruit Blend. The color was perfect, the aroma captivating. The leaves were excellent quality, and it was brewed well. Just like with the wine, Ferdinand didn’t know if it was a kindness or a cruelty that Hubert was killing him with his favorite things.

At least the last thing he ever tasted would be Southern Fruit Blend. He hoped Hubert’s poison was tasteless, and that it acted quickly.

He held the cup in his hands and stared into the tea, thinking of everything that had happened. He had done his best to help Edelgard. He had filed away everything important, said everything that needed to be said, dealt with every matter that only he could deal with. Perhaps, if there was an afterlife, or another side to go to, he would see his mother.

He took a breath, and then took a sip.

Nothing happened, except for Hubert’s rapt attention caught on Ferdinand. Perhaps the poison needed a bit more time, or a bit more of it to be effective. He could feel Hubert’s eyes on him, breath held and fingers fidgeting. Hubert was nervous again, or perhaps nervous still. It was an odd fit for Hubert.

Ferdinand looked up, and their eyes met. “Your hair has grown,” Hubert said suddenly.

Ferdinand took another sip of tea. Despite it actively killing him, it felt like it was bringing a bit of energy back into him. “It’s unsightly. It ought to be cut soon. I haven’t found the time.” _I did not think I would need to cut it. I thought you would kill me before it got the chance to grow long._

Ferdinand took another drag of tea, letting the flavors fill his mouth and warm his throat. He decided it was a kindness, dying with the taste of tea in his mouth rather than the taste of blood. Though the thought of Hubert acting kind on Ferdinand’s deathbed tore at the chasm in his chest.

Edelgard’s words rang through Ferdinand’s head, _He’s terrible at hiding it, but he has something on his mind. Perhaps you should ask him about it?_

Ferdinand had drank more than half the cup; the poison would be activating any moment. If he was going to know why Hubert wanted him dead, now was his only opportunity to ask.

“What are your intentions?” Ferdinand asked.

“…Concerning?”

“You never invite anyone to your quarters.”

Ferdinand glared, but to his astonishment, Hubert’s cheeks turned pink. It was slight, but Hubert’s skin was so pale that it was impossible to miss. He didn’t have an entry in his catalogue for a _blushing_ Hubert expression. He didn’t know Hubert was capable of blushing.

Flushed and fidgeting. Hubert’s mysteries never did end.

“I thought it might be a change of scenery for you,” Hubert said finally. “Since you are cooped up for the majority of the day.”

It was obviously not the truth. Even to the very end, Hubert couldn’t be honest. The thought felt sad, though Ferdinand didn’t want to understand why. And he would be dead in a few minutes, so it didn’t matter.

Although, if that were the truth, surely he would have felt something by now? He felt perfectly fine. No choking sensation, no searing pain, no numbness or drowsiness. “I do not feel any different,” Ferdinand said, prompting an explanation.

“I…ah.”

“I would have expected to feel something by now.”

Hubert turned away from Ferdinand’s stare, but when he turned back, Ferdinand held his gaze and pierced into them, forcing the answers from Hubert’s eyes.

“I had expected half a cup would provide a lethal dose by this point.”

Hubert stared at him, looking genuinely confused. Ferdinand didn’t think Hubert was such a talented actor. “Lethal?” Hubert asked.

“At least some properties to paralyze me, subdue me… Something that would prevent me from exercising a counterattack.” It was good, being this direct. Ferdinand wished he had accused Hubert much earlier.

He expected Hubert to smirk, to cackle, to burst out into one of his infamous evil laughs. He expected Hubert to congratulate him in a condescending tone, sounding genuinely impressed, and deliver another backhanded compliment.

But instead, Hubert stared at him, eyes wide and throat tight. Horrified. “And,” Hubert whispered. “You willingly came to my room, assuming?”

Hubert’s expression was wrong. He looked sad, and frighteningly upset. He looked like he was hurt. But Ferdinand held firm against him. “You would either finish me here or, upon my refusal, creep into my quarters and finish me in my sleep.” He put his teacup down with a rough clanking sound. “Am I wrong?”

Ferdinand waited for Hubert to give up this charade. To come clean. Hubert was going to be honest with him in his final moments, even if he had to force the truth out of him.

“…Yes?”

Ferdinand tensed his shoulders. “I…don’t understand.”

“I have been,” Hubert began, voice turning raspy and wavering, “I had been attempting to comfort you in some manner. Your demeanor had changed, and I wished to remedy it.”

What?

“My demeanor,” Ferdinand repeated. He felt a million questions rise to his tongue. Most of them revolved around the word _comfort_ that Hubert had used. It wasn’t in Hubert’s nature to comfort anyone, much less someone like Ferdinand. It had to be a lie. But then why did Hubert sound so honest?

“You seemed unlike yourself since you arrived,” Hubert continued.

Ferdinand narrowed his eyes as he looked away. “I did not know you would care,” he murmured. _Comfort_ , Hubert had said. _Attempting to comfort you_.

“Of course I would care,” Hubert insisted. His voice was thick now, and unsteady. “You are an important part of the work that is achieved in the palace, and I," Hubert swallowed, “I would like to believe that at some point, we considered each other as friends.”

Ferdinand sucked in a breath. “Friends? Us?”

Hubert’s voice hitched. His voice was always so controlled, so even, but here it was racing everywhere, lost. “On the battlefield. In the Academy. As children. At some point we— I thought I considered you as one.”

 _Friends._ Ferdinand felt the word in him. He felt it strike against the chasm of his chest. And then he felt it pull the chasm smaller. That horrid, gaping hole that took up his body, the one that seemed to grow larger every day. Hubert’s one word made it, ever so slightly, mend. _I had been attempting to comfort you_.

“So you were not trying to kill me,” Ferdinand said, slowly. The words bubbled out of him, and left in their wake the oddest sensation. Hope.

Hubert shook his head.

All this time. All this time? The reason Ferdinand could never discover Hubert’s motive for killing him was simply because…he didn’t have one?

It was difficult to believe. Hubert had more cunning and manipulation in him than one hundred politicians. He was a skilled liar, he had an affinity for theatrics. Surely, this was all some kind of elaborate ruse before the poison set in.

And yet. Hubert’s expression was beyond anything in the catalogue. Ferdinand could scramble for words, words like desperate or terrified or frantic, but none of them would approach this emotion. He had seen fleeting moments of vulnerability in Hubert before, but nothing like this. _Nothing_ like this.

Hubert let out a pained laugh. “I am not sure from where you would derive such a ridiculous notion. I have been,” a hiccup interrupted him, “desperately seeking your favor since your arrival.”

_What!?_

“…You have?”

“Was it not obvious?” Hubert pleaded. His voice was dripping, unbearably thick and wet, when Ferdinand noticed something that made his breath hitch.

Hubert’s eyes were welling up.

“Those vapid compliments I would give you, my silly invitation for dinner...” Blood raced to Hubert’s face, flushing it, staining it. “I should have known when you refused to touch the wine...”

And then, the first tear fell.

A few others came pouring after that one. Then several more. They streaked down Hubert’s cheeks mercilessly, racing out of him and refusing to look back. His breath shook wildly, erratic and shuddering and pained.

Their eyes met, and Ferdinand realized the weight of it all at once.

Hubert’s tears were for him.

Hubert continued crying as he muttered, “In any case, I apologize for keeping you.” His voice broke and cracked, and the sound felt like it was echoing off the walls of a chasm. “Now that we've cleared up that small misunderstanding, I am sure you have no reason to stay.”

Hubert crying. Hubert. _Crying._ Two words that would never have made sense together. And still don’t. Yet here Hubert was, in front of Ferdinand, crying. Suffering.

Ferdinand shook his head, and grasped inside his coat for his handkerchief. He leaned in closer to Hubert, and offered it to him very quietly. Hubert looked at the fabric, then wiped at his chin. When he looked down at the liquid in his hands, he gasped.

Hubert was a flawless liar, and he had a flair for the dramatic. But he could never fake tears. This was genuine. This Hubert that sat before him, whimpering and afraid and frantic, was the truth.

Ferdinand shifted closer, and pressed the fabric against Hubert’s cheek. He was gentle as he wiped, almost caressing, and the two of them were silent save for a few sniffles from Hubert.

 _Tears,_ Ferdinand marveled. _From Hubert._ Ferdinand felt the cloth dampen with the weight of them, the weight of Hubert’s feelings. Hubert had always kept his emotions locked so tightly that Ferdinand had believed he didn’t have any at all. But that wasn’t the case. It never had been. Ferdinand could feel the evidence on his fingers, on Hubert’s cheeks.

Ferdinand ventured a hand to Hubert’s arm, just below his shoulder, and squeezed. Attempting to comfort him.

“Please leave.” Hubert spoke quietly, his voice still hesitant.

“I owe you an apology first,” Ferdinand said gently.

“You do not owe me anything,” Hubert insisted, hiding a sniffle. “Please leave me.” How ironic that now Ferdinand wished to stay, only after months of wishing Hubert would leave him alone.

It simply wouldn’t do. Ferdinand had been avoiding Hubert, pushing him away, never having any answers. He was sick of it. “My attitude towards you has been abhorrent. I don’t know what to say.”

“It is understandable. You thought I was trying to get rid of you.”

Ferdinand shook his head. Hubert’s heart was a guarded thing, caged and laced with venom. But there was a chasm in Hubert’s chest, too, just like Ferdinand’s, one that was so big and wide that he could see Hubert’s heart racing clear as day.

Ferdinand had caused that. That chasm in Hubert’s chest, the one he knew so well from it tearing apart his own, had been sliced in Hubert by Ferdinand.

“And I…” Ferdinand began. He held Hubert’s arm a little tighter. “I have upset you. Whether my apologies could ever suffice…”

Hubert looked to Ferdinand’s hand on his shoulder. “It should not concern you.”

Ferdinand shook his head. This entire time, ever since the moment he arrived at the palace, no, even before that, Hubert hadn’t been trying to kill him. The thought hadn’t even crossed Hubert’s mind. It was a truth that sat in Ferdinand’s throat like a large fruit pit. Hard to swallow, but impossible to ignore.

“To think that what I thought was an elaborate plan for my own murder was, in actual fact, just a genuine invitation to tea, I…” Ferdinand gestured to the teacups, his own nearly gone and Hubert’s hardly acknowledged. “You have barely touched yours.”

“And so you must have thought I poisoned it. I simply do not care for the flavor.”

So then it was brewed specifically for Ferdinand. It was not just a kindness, it was an olive branch. A lifeline. Well, it would hardly be noble to allow good tea to go untouched, and Hubert certainly wasn’t going to finish it himself. “May I stay until it is finished?” Ferdinand asked.

Hubert nodded, and Ferdinand leaned back in his chair, able to notice the room for the first time. Candles had been set up carefully around the perimeter, meticulously calculated so the glow from each one ended right where another began. Hubert’s room was tidy, with a classical sense of style, much like him.

“It’s different from how I expected. Your quarters, that is. Is it always like this?”

“More or less,” Hubert said, eye drifting to the center of the tea table.

There, at the centerpiece of their table, was a vase of fresh flowers. Ferdinand had been so upset coming in, and so much had happened since, that he hadn’t even noticed. The petals were small and delicate, deep blue, and curved outwards to fill up the vase nicely.

Forget-me-nots, Ferdinand realized with a start.

He brought a hand out to caress the petals, feeling their softness against his fingers. They were positively lovely. True to their name, the flowers brought back memories of the kind that grew outside the stables of Garreg Mach. “Do you remember when she would assign us stable duties every week?”

Hubert blinked at him, and Ferdinand quickly supplied, “She used to give flowers like these to me. Our professor.”

Hubert hummed, and a quiet smile came to his face. So, so soft. If Hubert kept this up, Ferdinand would have to add a new volume to his catalogue. “I recall it, yes,” he said.

Ferdinand skimmed the ridge of his cup with his finger as he asked, “Do you think that she is still alive?”

“…They are yet to find a body,” Hubert answered carefully.

“Do you think that they will find one?”

Hubert did not respond, and only raised his cup to his lips. He flinched a little at the flavor, which amused Ferdinand. “It keeps me going to think so,” he told Hubert. “She was…patient with me.”

Hubert explained that Edelgard thought the professor was still alive, and Ferdinand agreed. He would have too, were he as close as they were. He thought of Edelgard’s far-off looks, and the sadness that seemed to shadow her steps. He told Hubert he was glad that Hubert was there for her.

Hubert chuckled. “I wonder…”

“You are her most trusted and relied confidant, and you stood by her side, regardless of the Church or even if the professor turned against her.” 

“And you would have not?”

It wasn’t that Ferdinand wouldn’t have. It was that he had hesitated. Edelgard wanted to create a world where everything Ferdinand had been taught to believe in would be obsolete. But working with her these past few months, he realized that wasn’t quite true. She wanted a world where leaders where determined by merit, and not blood, and Ferdinand had always agreed that those of certain blood were not always those with the greatest merit.

And even when he was at his lowest, Edelgard was always, always kind to him.

Finally, Ferdinand said, “I do not know. But now, I would. I trust in her. I will serve her any way I can.”

Ferdinand realized suddenly that this was the first time he’d taken tea with another person since the war started. And up until a few minutes ago, he’d thought it was the last tea he would ever have.

That realization hit him suddenly as well. He wasn’t going to die. _He wasn’t going to die._ He would have a tomorrow, and a day after that, and a day after that as well. He would have time to do everything he wanted. He could ride more horses and study new weapons, and maybe even catch a glimpse of the new dawn Edelgard would bring. He could take tea with Hubert again if he wanted.

That realization wasn’t one Ferdinand was prepared for. The realization that he wanted to take tea with Hubert again.

He shook his head, and focused on the tea set. It was lovely, bone-white with scalloped edges that gave off a sophisticated air without being too overbearing. It was familiar, the patterns intricate but subdued, and he traced his fingers along the design. It reminded him of an old tea set he used to own, so similar in make, pattern, and color that it must have been made by the same craftsman.

“I like this tea set of yours,” Ferdinand told him absently. “I used to own one that was quite similar… I may ask to borrow it from you from time to time. If you would not mind, that is.”

“Not at all,” he said. “You may keep it, if you would like.” 

Ferdinand shook his head. If it was like his old one, it was hand-crafted by a famous Almyran artisan and it must have been very difficult to obtain. “Oh, no. I couldn't possibly. This would be far too nice to take from your hands.”

“Is that so,” he said, a mysterious and amused glint in his voice.

Ferdinand had used his similar set when he planned Hubert’s 20th birthday party. He remembered it well, how stubbornly dismissive Hubert was about his own birthday, so Ferdinand had to plan it in secret. It was last-minute, but small and peaceful. He caught Hubert smiling softly several times that afternoon, and he remembered the relief he felt when he saw those smiles.

Did Hubert remember? Did he remember that afternoon, did he think on it fondly? Ferdinand hoped he did. Was that why Hubert purchased a set so similar? Ferdinand felt a pang that he’d had him throw out all of his old tea sets. Some of them were a bit ostentatious, he’d admit, but some of them were ones he wished he could have held onto.

Ferdinand couldn’t ask him; Hubert didn’t know he’d planned his party and he hoped to keep it that way. It wasn’t his day, after all. And back then, their rivalry was still palpable. If Hubert had known, he never would have come. He mused that from Hubert’s perspective, taking tea with Ferdinand would have been atrocious.

But now, things weren’t quite the same, were they? Hubert _invited_ him to tea, private tea, in his room. Without much thought, Ferdinand struck up a conversation.

As they spoke, Ferdinand couldn’t believe the ease and comfort with which they conversed. He found himself smiling without realizing it, smiling without having to force it, and it felt wonderful. He felt like he could finally breathe again. When Hubert smiled back, it made him want to capture those smiles and keep them in his pocket.

More tea was brewed, and Ferdinand brewed coffee so Hubert wouldn’t have to force himself with the tea any longer. He sent for some light sweets to accompany their drinks, and the sun sank lower in the sky without either realizing.

They settled into a comfortable silence. Ferdinand was shocked at how easily he had become comfortable around Hubert. Just this morning, he thought he and Hubert would never be friends again.

Ferdinand stared into his tea cup, and felt the silence a welcoming stage. “When I was in Aegir, there were multiple attempts on my life,” he explained.

Hubert looked to him, rapt. “Who was it?”

Ferdinand looked to the flowers on the table and smiled. It no longer mattered. “I am unsure. I do not know who they are, or who they worked for. I had somehow convinced myself that they were your people,” he explained.

“If I were to assassinate you, I would simply slit your throat in your sleep.”

Ferdinand smiled. “I know.” He reached a finger to the vulnerable part of his throat where his jaw met his neck, tracing along it. “Right here. I used to have dreadful dreams about it. You, looming over my bed, with a blade against my throat. I would lie there for hours…”

It was funny. If he had known, if Hubert could have found a way to tell him in a way Ferdinand would have believed, how much easier this all would have been. If Ferdinand had possessed the courage to trust him.

“I would prefer if you could give me any details that you remember about who they were,” Hubert said.

Ferdinand couldn’t help smiling. Hubert was always so thorough, and here he was, trying to tie up more loose ends. Trying to protect Ferdinand. He thought of telling Hubert about Lord V, about the reoccurring notes left with the failed assassins, but honestly? None of it seemed to matter anymore. Not here, in Hubert’s room, with a vase of hand-picked forget-me-nots and their favorite drinks.

“I shall see what I am able to scour from my journals, and I shall write you a report. Is there a due date?” Ferdinand teased. He was _teasing_ again. Goddess it felt good. It felt like he was finding himself again.

Hubert took a moment to respond. “As soon as, whenever you are free.”

Ferdinand laughed. When he looked at Hubert again, he had such a look of contentment on his face. Another new entry for the catalogue. Ferdinand wondered if Hubert had always been capable of making these expressions and he had just never seen them, or if they were completely new. If Ferdinand was creating them. The thought filled him with the oddest sense of warmth.

Hubert stood, pushing his chair back. “I ought to get myself something light to eat. Would you care for anything?”

Ferdinand mirrored him. “Ah, no, let me…”

Hubert held up a gloved hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You went before. Those tarts that we had, you like those, do you not?"

Ferdinand looked down, a little embarrassed. “I've had my fair share of sweet things. But thank you.”

Hubert gave him a different sort of small smile, another one Ferdinand would have to file away to decipher. Hubert left, and it wasn’t until he’d closed the door behind him that Ferdinand was struck with three startling truths all at once.

One, he was sad to see Hubert go. That meant that he had been enjoying himself. This was the first interaction with anyone that he had looked forward to in Goddess knew how long. And it was _Hubert_ no less, Hubert who he had spent months fearing and doubting and dreading. Hubert, who had cried right in front of him.

Two, Ferdinand was healing. It was slow, the wounds were old after all, but he could feel it in himself. The chasm that he’d thought unfathomably large was becoming manageably big. The loneliness and anxiety that had weighed him down like iron chains had snapped off at some point during their tea, and only bruises were left behind.

And three, he was going to live. He’d realized some time ago that death wasn’t imminent, but he hadn’t realized just what that meant. In the moment that changed everything, Hubert needed him more than Ferdinand needed to re-contextualize months of his life, so he hadn’t had the chance. But in the flickering candlelight after dusk, in the safety of the truth, he could.

Sleep—the elusive, fickle being—caught up to Ferdinand suddenly. He allowed himself to be lulled into it, no longer envisioning blades and blood the moment his eyes closed.

For the first time in ages, Ferdinand dreamt of absolutely nothing. 

-

“Ferdinand,” called a warm and familiar voice. Ferdinand felt Hubert’s hand on his shoulder.

He blinked, then rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “My apologies. I do not recall falling asleep…” he mumbled blearily. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so rested after a nap.

It was dark now, all traces of light had disappeared from the sky. The candlelight in Hubert’s quarters gave a gentle, intimate glow to the room, to Hubert’s bangs. Ferdinand felt the oddest urge to run his finger through.

“If you could stand up for a moment, Ferdinand. I will take you to your quarters,” Hubert offered.

Ferdinand began mumbling out a protest, but suddenly Hubert drew him in close. His heart started pounding, he almost mumbled out a “you’re alive” out of habit, but then he realized he felt completely safe. The switch from feeling like he was in mortal peril to feeling genuinely comforted by Hubert’s presence was terrifying. Surely he ought to have felt lingering hesitation, or any kind of reservation about being this close to Hubert at all. But he didn’t.

Hubert removed his gloves and wrapped a hand around Ferdinand’s wrist. Ferdinand inhaled. He’d seen Hubert’s hands before, but feeling them was an entirely different sensation. His heart would not stop pounding in his chest.

Hubert hummed, and waved his other hand out to form a spell. Ferdinand blinked, and then they were suddenly back in his room. Hubert loosened his grip as Ferdinand blinked again, trying to readjust. He sat down on his bed.

Now that Ferdinand knew the truth, he thought back to all of his moments with Hubert. The dinner, the tea, and even that first night where Ferdinand had thought Hubert was coming to assess his vulnerability. Every moment between them had to be re-contextualized now, re-framed from the lens of an imminent threat into…into what?

That thought raced in his heart.

How quick Ferdinand had been to judge Hubert. With no evidence. Less than no evidence, merely speculation. Maybe the truth was, he’d _wanted_ to blame Hubert. He wanted him to be a heartless killer. But why? _Because it was easier,_ he thought. But then, that begged the further question: easier than what?

Ferdinand shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said aloud in the darkness. Hubert deserved a hundred apologies, but one was an adequate start.

“You were understandably exhausted. Rest well,” Hubert said, silhouette barely visible.

“I am sorry that I upset you,” Ferdinand clarified.

Hubert released a short breath, almost a laugh. “I am sorry that you thought I was going to kill you.”

“No…” Ferdinand began. How could he put it? Were there words enough to express everything? “I…”

“It is best if we forgot about it.”

Ferdinand persisted. “In all my years of knowing you, I had never seen you so upset.” It wasn’t everything, but it was true. Perhaps for now it would be enough.

Hubert didn’t respond right away. Ferdinand wished he could see his expression in the dark. “It is best if we forgot about it,” Hubert repeated. But Ferdinand knew such a thing was impossible. The way Hubert’s flaxen eyes shattered, the deep lines that carved on his forehead, the stream catching on his chin…

And then Ferdinand thought of all the moments he could have sworn Hubert was on the precipice of running a knife through him. His looks had been so intense, each one a different kind of sharp. None of it had been what it seemed. In fact, it was all far simpler. _Attempting to comfort you._

Ferdinand saw something shift, a shadow in the darkness. _You’re alive,_ he told himself, swallowing. Then, _it’s just Hubert._ Ferdinand reached out his hand towards the silhouette. “Hubert? Is that you?” he ventured, needing to be certain. This morning Hubert was the greatest threat to Ferdinand’s life, and now he was reaching to him.

Hubert’s reply was gentle. “Of course.”

Ferdinand caught his sleeve, then shaped his fingers around Hubert’s arm. His heart stuttered at the feel of lean muscle through the fabric. He slid his hand down, circling Hubert’s wrist, before catching his bare hand. Hubert’s hand was rough and calloused, from years of holding weapons and casting spells, but it was warm. He thumbed across the knuckles, studying the feel of the scars, imagining their patterns. Imagining the strife he must have put Hubert through, thanks to his own cowardice and speculation.

He brought Hubert’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it. He allowed his lips to linger. Relishing the texture of Hubert’s hand against his chin. The gentleness of him.

“That is a promise,” Ferdinand explained. “I will repay you twofold, no, tenfold.”

Above him, he heard Hubert swallow. The hand in his twitched, but Ferdinand held it steady. It was the least he could do. “There is—there is no need,” Hubert stammered. “Truly. All I did was…within my duties.”

Ferdinand was about to protest, but before he could, Hubert spoke. “I ought to tell you,” he rasped. “The letters that you told me to dispose of. I decided to keep them, for if you had changed your mind. As well as your other personal belongings, that seemed important… I have them in my possession, whenever you would like them, if you could tell me and I shall have them delivered. To your quarters, if you would like.”

Ferdinand’s heart seized. How was it that when Ferdinand had given up on himself, Hubert hadn’t?

Ferdinand tugged on Hubert’s hand, still enclosed in his. “Hubert, come closer?” he asked.

“I, err…”

Hubert obeyed stiffly, shuffling until he was nearly on top of Ferdinand. Ferdinand reached up his arms and wrapped them tight around Hubert’s back, holding him close. Hubert reacted as if he’d been set on fire, hurriedly curling his fingers into Ferdinand’s back. The sensation nearly set Ferdinand on fire.

Ferdinand let lose a sigh, almost a laugh, as he leaned his head against Hubert’s neck. He seemed so nervous. They had spent far too long not understanding one another.

“You were kind to me,” Ferdinand murmured against Hubert’s neck. It felt so warm. “And to have ignored that for the sake of my own misplaced anxieties…” Ferdinand felt the words burn on his tongue. ‘Ignored’ was not quite the right word. It was easier to see Hubert’s actions as threats. _Easier than what?_ “It was thoughtless,” he concluded. “I promise that I will give back even a fraction of that kindness…”

“There, there really is no need,” Hubert breathed, voice tight. They pulled apart a bit, and even in the low light, Ferdinand could see Hubert’s expression. A mix between panic and fondness, Ferdinand thought. Before tonight, he would not have thought such an expression possible on Hubert’s face.

He was struck with the memory of the first moment he’d realized how handsome Hubert was, that meeting where he’d tied his hair back in a bow. He was even more handsome now, eyes reflecting bits of the stars. They seemed brighter. Or perhaps now Ferdinand was allowing himself to see it.

That was it. Easier than acknowledging his feelings.

This was another revelation that should have taken more adjusting to. Just like the reveal of Hubert’s innocence, Ferdinand’s feelings should have shocked him, insulted him, astonished him.

But they didn’t. Not at all.

But then again, how could they? When Hubert had prepared his favorite wine and a dish they both enjoyed, when Hubert had hand-picked forget-me-nots and brewed his favorite tea, when Hubert had saved his treasures and kept them safe? When Hubert’s fingers clung to his back and his eyes could shed tears for him?

Hubert’s eyes were downcast now, troubled. “Hubert?” Ferdinand called.

Hubert did not respond, but his eyes caught on Ferdinand’s lips. Ferdinand sucked in a breath. “Hubert?” he called again. “Are you alright?”

Hubert snapped back to him. “Yes…yes.” He cleared his throat. What had happened in that moment? What was Hubert thinking of, looking at Ferdinand’s lips, fear etched into his face? “I am fine,” Hubert continued. He sounded normal again. “I ought to leave you to rest.”

Hubert began pulling away. Ferdinand felt himself trying to keep hold of Hubert’s hand, to catch it and keep it, but he relented. Rest did sound divine.

“Thank you for tonight,” Ferdinand told him. “It was…” he scrambled for the word. There would never be enough words to capture everything. “…sweet of you,” he finally settled on.

Hubert’s throat let out the quietest sort of sound, mostly sharp inhale but too quick and stifled to make out. “Anytime,” he said. “Goodnight, Ferdinand.” Ferdinand heard a bit of a smile in his farewell, the soft, contented sort of smile.

“Goodnight.”

Hubert left quietly, and once he’d gone, Ferdinand felt sleep return, threatening to claim him once more. He quickly disrobed and curled under the covers. For a moment, he imagined Hubert hovering over his bed, aiming towards the vulnerable part of Ferdinand’s throat where his neck met his jaw. He imagined him smiling softly, then leaning down.

And kissing him instead of striking him.

It had been easier to believe Hubert wanted to kill him than to accept his feelings for him. A predatory Hubert, a hateful one, that was one Ferdinand knew how to deal with. But this softer, honest Hubert, the one who sank into his touch and curled his fingers against his back? He was new.

Or perhaps, in truth, he wasn’t new at all. This Hubert had always been there, trying to find a way to reveal himself. And the fact that he wasn’t new was what scared Ferdinand. The fact that none of these “new” emotions truly felt new. He had sown these seeds, turned away, and when he looked back they had all sprouted.

This odd little thing that had sprouted between them had grown in barren soil, in a place where nothing should have been able to grow. Yet it grew anyways.

-

Moons passed, and with Hubert rushing to and from Enbarr, Ferdinand found himself falling into new habits.

Firstly, he began investing his off-time into his hobbies again. He found more time for riding and leisure reading, and slept better at night. He never let his work slip, after all, there was a war on. But in fact, he’d found himself more productive than ever, And between Edelgard and Hubert, Ferdinand didn’t know another lonely tea.

He stopped holding his tongue on important documents, speaking up the moment something struck him as odd. It often was met with groans or grimaces, but followed with a sort of lightness that one dedicated to studying Hubert could almost equate to a smile. Though their work now took longer, the quality improved greatly. He made sure to leave precise, elegant notes for Hubert on his desk to find upon his returns.

He began attempting to fit his and Hubert’s schedules together. Hubert was difficult to plan around, and he had many secret meetings that Ferdinand could not predict, so he devised a more subtle tactic. Often after a meeting, he would open his appointment book very wide, angling it slightly, and keep it open long enough for Hubert to memorize the free times. After a bit of trial and error, their leisure began to miraculously line up like clockwork.

Ferdinand became the first to greet Hubert upon his returns, jumping straight into work to obfuscate his intentions. He spared no detail, naturally, as Hubert liked, and often while summarizing Ferdinand could find him smiling. Hubert would retort with his own notes, Ferdinand would retort back. When their debates stretched past sunset, as was common, they dined together.

With their dinner often came wine. Many times, Ferdinand would purposefully drink just a bit more than he could properly handle, just to watch Hubert try and keep up. Tipsy Hubert was amusing, as Ferdinand discovered, because his eyes liked to wander and linger on sensitive parts of Ferdinand’s body. He thought, passingly, of telling Hubert that he didn’t mind that, that Hubert could still do so sober, but the act would have been positively mortifying.

So he kept Hubert’s glances as a secret to himself, to counter the leftover darkness that still crept into his mind from time to time. Some nights while escorting Hubert to his room, supporting him with an arm across his back to hold him up, their eyes would catch and Ferdinand would swear Hubert was on the precipice of kissing him.

Hubert never did, and eventually he stopped attempting to match Ferdinand’s drinking pace. But there were still moments between them, in hallways or in the gardens or above the rip of a coffee cup, where Hubert would look at Ferdinand like he made the sun seem dim. It was astounding, because Hubert made the stars shine brighter at night.

Ferdinand pondered telling that to Hubert as well, but the idea left him flushed from the tips of his ears to his collarbone. He had already kissed Hubert that night; surely now it was Hubert’s turn. And Hubert was a practical, level-headed, rational sort. If he’d heard the phrase _you make the stars shine brighter,_ surely he would laugh in Ferdinand’s face.

Then again, he hadn’t laughed at the forget-me-nots.

Ferdinand had been thinking about things like suns and stars and flowers on this particular day, seeing Hubert off at the stables adjacent to the palace. It was before dawn, the sky still blushing pink and world around them hushed with sleep. Hubert’s trip was going to be long, and Ferdinand already missed him, so he had to see him off.

Ferdinand’s farewell also served a secondary purpose. Hubert was reportedly visiting Hrym territory to the northeast, yet conflicting, covert reports had indicated he was travelling to the Brionac Plateau. This discrepancy spoke to something troubling in their paperwork, something that felt akin to a secret. Once, this would have upset Ferdinand greatly, hindered his focus and his nerves.

But no more. He trusted Hubert. This would not be an interrogation so much as opening a dialogue between them.

Ferdinand busied himself with Hubert’s horse, a stout and sturdy imperial gelding. He asked the horse to carry Hubert safely on his journey as he gently pet along his snout. A lock of Ferdinand’s hair fell out over his shoulder, tumbling down and hanging wildly.

He looked up at Hubert and found him staring. It must have been his hair. “I ought to have it cut,” Ferdinand told him, averting his eyes and bringing a hand to the loose lock. “I look unkempt.” The length had once represented something akin to days in hell, so it would only make sense to cut it now that it was no longer true.

“Not at all. It suits you.”

Then again, perhaps he could keep it.

“Do you think so?” he asked, breath held. He suddenly felt so shy, so _seen_. “I have never had experience with maintaining longer hair, and I worry that it would look untame…”

“At this length, you could choose to braid it.”

Ferdinand looked to him. He remembered Edelgard telling him how much Hubert enjoyed braiding…he took a breath. “I would not know how.”

Hubert smiled, nostalgic, and tilted his head a bit so his bangs freed his hidden eye. “Perhaps I could show you. When we have the time.”

Ferdinand’s heart slid up to his throat for a moment and he ducked his head, rolling a strand between his fingers. He imagined Hubert’s fingers combing through his hair, his calloused and warm and deft fingers. “…I think I would like that.”

Goddess above, Ferdinand’s heart would not settle. He turned his attention back to the horse, decidedly safer than Hubert’s gaze. He had been so bold that night after their first tea…what had he been thinking, _kissing_ Hubert’s fingers, latching onto him as if he owned him?

Hubert moved towards the gelding, offering up his gloved hand for the horse to nuzzle. Ferdinand chuckled. Their shoulders nearly grazed at this proximity, and Ferdinand could feel Hubert glance at him, looked up once and caught his eyes. They looked like spring in the early light.

“I should…” Hubert began before trailing off. He cleared his throat and found the words again. “I ought to be on my way.”

Ferdinand blinked. “Oh, of course.” He was beginning to hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Er, before you go…”

He turned to Hubert and opened his arms, beckoning, feeling his face heat. “I shan’t be seeing you for a few weeks?”

Hubert accepted, and Ferdinand rested his head on his shoulder. The sudden jump in his heartrate came out of him as a laugh. Hubert smelled like freshly-brewed coffee and ink.

Ferdinand gathered his heart with a breath, then gripped at the back of Hubert’s shirt to anchor him. He angled his mouth into Hubert’s ear to hide his lips from potential onlookers. “I fear you may be hiding something.”

He felt Hubert stiffen underneath him, heard his sharp inhale through his nose as it tickled past Ferdinand’s ear. He continued, “You said that you were heading northeast, yet I overheard some of your associates mentioning that you would head north towards the Brionac Plateau. It makes me wonder what else you are hiding from me.”

Hubert’s breath came out in a slight tremor, so light that Ferdinand would not have noticed it were he any further away. “Some things within my work, your work that you have passed onto me do not add up. Missing bits of paperwork, reports I ought to be receiving from you on Arundel, and said lands within the Brionac Plateau…” 

Hubert swallowed. “I am handling those myself. It is…nothing you should concern yourself with.”

Ferdinand frowned. He clenched his fists into Hubert’s back a little tighter. “If it concerns yourself, then surely it concerns myself and my own work. Would my abilities be insufficient for that work?” Which was the reason for Hubert’s secrecy? A lack of trust, or an excess of fear?

Hubert released a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. It told Ferdinand that he wasn’t yet ready to answer, but that he would in due time. Which was fine. Ferdinand was patient, especially for Hubert.

Hubert began pulling away, but Ferdinand brought him back. “Someone could read my lips,” he warned.

“Someone could see us like this,” Hubert replied with a slight waver.

 _Would that be so terrible?_ Ferdinand wanted to ask. Did Hubert dislike these embraces, their proximities? Did he wish in the back of his mind for Ferdinand to leave him alone? He settled his chin into the soft part of Hubert’s shoulder. “…Are you worried about what people may think?”

He felt Hubert bite his lip. “I was thinking more so of your own reputation.”

“How so?”

Hubert swallowed. “If people were to assume, that we were, err, in a close relationship, any suitresses—“

“Or suitors,” Ferdinand added, caught between revealing and safeguarding. 

Hubert's voice wavered. “—would be put off by any of your advances. Fearing that they would stir one morning with a thinly-veiled death threat pinned to their bed-board with a dagger.”

The image was amusing, a note in Hubert’s precise and industrial handwriting with a dagger engraved with the Vestra coat of arms. And it was also vivid. Had Hubert imagined this? Or was Ferdinand reading too much into it?

“And if I had no interest in such individuals?” Ferdinand asked him, pointedly.

Hubert’s throat made a sound as if it had just short-circuited. “Then…”

“And what if you had admirers?” Ferdinand pushed. “What of them?” He heard his heartbeat in his eardrums.

“I…do not possess those,” Hubert said.

It made Ferdinand smile. “Really,” he hummed. “Not even one?”

He held his breath. This was a very exposed sort of ruse, one that surely Hubert’s cunning would see through. Which was a little bit what Ferdinand wanted. It was so unlike him to dance around subjects, but he was terrified of being direct. This ruse would have to suffice until he found the courage.

They finally pulled apart, and Ferdinand had to find something for his hands to do. He settled on adjusting Hubert’s collar, which had gotten the slightest bit crinkled from his chin. He found himself attached to that idea, the idea that he left an impact on Hubert.

“You know of them,” Hubert accused.

Ferdinand couldn’t help smiling. He knew the admirer very well indeed. Once the collar was fixed, Ferdinand moved onto Hubert’s cravat. It was tied perfectly, as expected, but Ferdinand needed an outlet for the electricity his heart was pumping into him.

“I will not be able to return any feelings on their part,” Hubert began. He swallowed. “There is—I am already too consumed in my work to even consider…”

“To consider courtship,” Ferdinand finished. Hubert had said as much before. “Is there anything that could make you?”

Hubert was silent.

It sent another jolt of unease into Ferdinand, spurring him to untie the cravat and re-tie it once more. Hubert wasn’t a child; he didn’t need anyone tying his cravat for him. But Ferdinand needed this. His stomach felt like a hundred pegasi taking flight, threatening to lift him up into the sky.

He looked up to Hubert’s face, to try and gauge his expression, only to find him already looking at Ferdinand. How often would they do this dance? Ferdinand wondered how much more of it he could take before he burst.

“What about yourself?” Hubert asked. “Would you ever consider courtship?”

Goddess above, he’d done nothing _but_ consider courtship for several moons now. He returned his attention to the cravat. “It sounds nice, does it not? Spending your life with someone else.” He took a breath, preparing for another step in his ruse. “A, ah, formal, companionship could be pleasant.”

Though he said it to test out Hubert’s reaction, Ferdinand found himself not nearly brave enough to look into Hubert’s eyes. He folded the cravat into Hubert’s vest, willing his fingers steady. He gently tapped Hubert’s chest. “There. Finished.”

“You would suit it,” Hubert told him. “Marriage, that is.”

Ferdinand felt his chest swell. Once there had been a chasm there. “Do you think so? I think it would suit you, too.” Hubert gave him a disbelieving look, which almost made Ferdinand laugh. “Does it really never cross your mind?”

“I am not sure why it matters.”

“Well, because—” Ferdinand bit his tongue. Before knowing Hubert, he might have charged ahead with his confession then and there. The words were there, at the back of his throat, ready to leap out into the air. It might have been a relief. But there was this odd little thing that had grown between them, and he feared trampling it. He could not move too quickly, too hastily. “I…shall tell you on your return. So, come back to me safely, won’t you?”

A delicate shade of pink dusted Hubert’s cheeks. “Of course.”

Hubert looked like a canvas painting. Obsidian waves, spring-sapling eyes atop beds of pink, all across ivory skin. And he was leaving to who-knows where, to be gone for weeks. The loneliness tugged at Ferdinand, knowing that there would be a hole in his life once Hubert left, even if he knew he would see him again.

“If you could send me a letter,” Ferdinand requested. “You could tell me how you are, or where you are…Even if it is just to tell me you are well.” Anything at all. The contents mattered so little compared to knowing a letter came from Hubert.

“I shall,” he agreed, “when I can find an appropriate courier. I will be unable to reveal anything sensitive in those.” Hubert paused. “On my return, however, I could tell you.”

Ferdinand smiled. “Then I shall arrange us something for that occasion.”

He began to ask whether they should take tea or supper when the morning bells tolled to mark the hour.

 _Damned bells._ “I must have kept you awhile, my apologies…”

“No, thank you for seeing me. I…” Hubert caught his eyes. “…shall miss you.”

“I shall miss you more,” Ferdinand told him. They embraced once more, briefly this time, before Hubert took the reins and guided his horse out.

Ferdinand watched him go, waving as Hubert looked back over his shoulder. Ferdinand watched him all the way out, all the way until he could see him no longer.

Ferdinand sighed, then decided to indulge in a morning walk. He would devote himself to his work soon enough, and it would allow his mind to settle, but he wanted to dwell in this feeling just a bit longer.

As he wandered to the fields, he found a deep blue flower with delicate petals curving towards the sky. He knelt down, plucked one, and tucked it into his hair. Soon, he could have the whole patch braided in, weaving down his hair, entangled in it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Had to give poor Ferdie a break after abusing him for so long.
> 
> If you haven't read [Scorpion Grasses](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27590620), you absolutely should! Hubert has different memories, scenes, feelings, and conversations that Ferdinand never gets to see, all of which are very good. And if you have read Scorpion Grasses, I hope you enjoyed Forget-me-nots! I wanted to make the stories different enough that they felt like their own unique experiences, but also similar enough that they felt like they fit together.


End file.
